SIDE STREETS: Amid Hernandez trial, media hits Fall River in full force

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Channels 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 12 all had big news trucks on the street at the Fall River Justice Center on Thursday, cables snaking over the sidewalk, local people smoking cigarettes or holding a cellphone up, taking video of other people holding their cellphones up, taking video.

Channels 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 12 all had big news trucks on the street at the Fall River Justice Center on Thursday, cables snaking over the sidewalk, local people smoking cigarettes or holding a cellphone up, taking video of other people holding their cellphones up, taking video.

A television reporter, a bit too short to work on the slight hill next to the justice center, stood precariously on a box, wobbling a little on her heels and talking to the camera.

“They realize they’re not going to see him, right?” a cop exhaled wearily, surveying a crowd that was spread out but starting to congeal on the wide concrete apron between the justice center and the street.

Aaron Hernandez, football player, arrested but not tried and therefore not guilty on Thursday afternoon, was coming for a bail hearing at 2 p.m., a hearing for which the outcome was debated on the sidewalk.

“He’ll get out right away,” a guy in front of Cafe Arpeggio said to his two friends. “He’s got $4 million in cash. He had a $40 million contract. They gave him 10 percent up front. He’s got $44 million to get out.”

“Another O.J.,” a guy in the crowd smirked.

A white news truck pulled up on North Main Street, next to a fire hydrant. Almost all news trucks are white.

Two motorcycle cops, newly set up in front of the justice center, put their bikes on the kickstand and walked down to the news truck. One of the officers leaned in the passenger's side window of the truck. When the cop pulled his head out of the truck’s interior, the driver moved the truck up some 15 feet until there was a clear path to the hydrant.

“What a way to become a celebrity,” muttered a woman walking by.

“This is crazy,” a man said, walking out of the justice center.

Like “Government Center,” “Justice Center” does not roll off the lips naturally, not like “city hall” or “courthouse,” and a number of people in the crowd chose not to say, “Justice Center,” sticking to “courthouse.”

If a courthouse has anything in common with a justice center, it’s that both contain and are surrounded by personal problems, many of which get worked out in public.

“She don’t want nothin’ to do with me,” a guy shouted into a cellphone. “Nothin’.”

A woman in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts reminded the party on the other end of her cellphone conversation, “Don’t start nothin'. I know you mother and your aunt.”

Later in the day, when the crowd thickens up and a ragged chant of “Free Hernandez” goes up, it’ll be more like a big city crowd. But at 1 p.m., the people on the street have more of the air of a day-off-work crowd than a demand-for-justice crowd.

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And the ripple went through the crowd, “no bail,” like a sports score, like people saying “it’s no good,” after a field goal attempt.

“Side Streets” is a new column from Marc Munroe Dion, one that draws on his knowledge of the area and his affection for the city where he was born. It’s about people and places and history and the voice that only comes from one corner of southeastern Massachusetts.